


Amor

by golden_tragedy



Series: christmas prompts from my groupchat [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Barca player Neymar, Cris is willing to help out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, he has no idea how he ended up agreeing to do this, leo definitely does not wish that, neymar wishes he was with Leo, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28174827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_tragedy/pseuds/golden_tragedy
Summary: Cris doesn’t even know Neymar. And now here he is, sitting in his lap in front of all his Barcelona teammates.“He likes you,” Messi says“I would hope so, or this would be awkward. We are dating.” Cris crosses his arms.“Shut up, smartass. No I mean he genuinely likes you. He hasn’t smiled like that in a long time.”
Relationships: Lionel Messi/Neymar, Neymar/Cristiano Ronaldo
Series: christmas prompts from my groupchat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065338
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Amor

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t proof read this, pretty sure I wrote this while half asleep, I am not responsible for what is in this it’s like 11pm and I’ve been up since 2am. Doing this as part of a challenge from my groupchat lol.

Cris doesn’t entirely understand how he got roped into this. He doesn’t even know Neymar beyond the rushed hellos on the pitch, yet here he is, putting an absurd amount of preparation into getting ready for a dinner with the Barcelona team. The phone call had been strange, to put it mildly. He’d gotten about twelve missed calls from an unknown number, and it was only after he showed it to Marcelo that he realised it was Neymar. Confused, he called back. 

Neymar had been breathless and panicked as he rambled on and on about Leo Messi. 

“Neymar, I need you to take a deep breath and talk slowly,” Cris said, frowning 

“Look there’s this huge mess where Leo found out I like him and he’s trying to let me down gently but uh, he’s not very good at it and I kind of need your help”

“I’m not giving Messi advice on how to reject you.”

“He’s not rejecting me,” Neymar said, sounding mildly offended “he’s just not ready for a relationship yet”

“Right.”

“Right. So can you like...” he trailed off, and there was a long moment of silence 

“What?” Cris prompted, throwing an exasperated glance over his shoulder at Marcelo, who just shrugged. 

Neymar starting laughing, and there was a maniacal quality to it. Cris took a deep breath to maintain his composure and started eating the grapes next to him, if only to give himself something to do. 

“Can you like...maybe uh date me?”

Cris chokes on his half eaten grape, and gasping for air, he chokes out a 

“What?”

“Just so Leo knows I’m not waiting around for him to rejec-let me down. It’ll save both of us the awkwardness.”

Cris thought it would just be an offhand comment to Messi, maybe he’d have to facetime Neymar and call him baby and tell him he misses him. Maybe make a few innuendos. It ended up being not only that, but this dinner too. 

He shudders at the thought of eating dinner with those cules, but Neymar is knocking impatiently on the door, so he just settles for running his hands through his hair one last time. It’s a casual thing, apparently, so he just pulled on a sweatshirt over his jeans, put in his earrings and left his hair ungelled. He may have put more effort in if he was trying to impress anyone, but the Barca players are the furthest people from that list. 

“Cris? We’re going to be late,” Neymar says a touch impatiently. 

“Coming,” he takes one last look into the full length mirror, fires off a slightly whiny text to Sergio about not wanting to do this, then he unlocks the door and steps out. 

Neymar looks up from where he’s sitting on the arm of a sofa, mouth parting slightly. As Cris glances at him, he would even go so far as to say he’s impressed. After multiple hair fiascos, it seemed the Brazilian finally found one that suited him, and that black jacket looked immaculate against his bronzed skin and tattoos. When had he pierced his ears? And that was a new tattoo behind his neck. Cris only realises he’s staring when Neymar tilts his head 

“What? Is there something there?” He raises a hand to his ear but Cris shakes his head 

“Nothing, sorry.”

Neymar shrugs, hopping off the arm with a grin. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” Cris smiles back. 

Neymar’s driving, so Cris settles back in his seat, watching Barcelona fly past him in a blur of colours. 

“So we still need to figure some stuff out”

“What stuff?”

“When we met, what happened, all that stuff. How long we’ve been dating.” Neymar’s fingers drum on the steering wheel as he glances over at Cris, who wrinkles his nose as he tries to remember the last time they met. 

“The last time we met was the Champions League. Maybe from there?” He shrugs, and Neymar nods. 

“Sure. After we lost, you came to our dressing room or some shit and since I’m always so slow to leave-“

“It was just us alone, and it was love at first sight and you railed me against the wall” Cris bats his eyelashes, clasps his hands in front of him enthusiastically and turns toward Neymar with a smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. 

Neymar snorts and shakes his head and Cris pretends he can’t see the smile Neymar is trying so desperately to contain. They pull into a driveway and Neymar unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“Well, here we are.”

Cris peers out the window. Messi’s house looks like a football, but he keeps that to himself as he steps out of the car. Neymar rings the bell and as they’re waiting for the door to open, he tentatively reaches out for Cris’s hand, but when Cris looks at him, he’s staring pointedly at the mistletoe hanging from the door. 

He reaches out, takes Neymar’s hand and taking his lead, pretends it isn’t happening. The door creaks open, and Leo Messi stands there, smiling. 

“Hey Leo,” Neymar moves to hug him then realised he’s holding Cris’s hand then rocks back on his heels. Messi cocks his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows. 

“Hey Messi,” Cris offers, trying to take his attention away from Neymar, who is turning redder by the second. 

Messi looks over at him, 

“Just Leo, please. Everyone calls me Leo.”

“Alright, Leo.” Cris smiles at him, unable to contain it. Leo is smiling too, as if he took recognises how absurd this is. Two of the greatest players to ever exist eating dinner together while on rival teams. Of course it’s more complicated on Cris’s side of the story. 

Someone yells for Leo from inside and he opens the door wider 

“Come in,” he says and Neymar, still a bright red practically runs past him, dragging Cris after him. 

The entire Barcelona team is gathered in Messi’s lounge, sprawled around on the sofas and carpet. Neymar kicks Lenglet off the single armchair and sits down, not giving Cris any chance to protest before pulling him down into his lap. 

There’s a stunned silence coming from not just the Barca players, but Cris, who rolls his eyes before awkwardly manoeuvring on Neymar’s lap so he can face the rest of the room. 

“Everyone,” Neymar says, peeking over Cris’s shoulder “I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend.” 

Gerard Pique coughs violently and while Leo undoubtedly heard them on facetime, he’s slack jawed anyways. 

“Your...boyfriend?” Sergi Roberto mutters, looking rather faint. 

Cris leans back, resting against Neymar. 

“Yes, Roberto, my boyfriend.” Neymar hisses “do you have a problem with it?”

“He’s a Madridista!” Piqué protests, and Sergi murmurs in agreement 

“And you couldn’t stop staring at Ramos’s ass, I don’t think you’re the right person to tell me off for liking a Madridista.” Neymar says calmly, raising an eyebrow, almost daring anyone to protest. 

No one does, but Leo, who probably meant well, tries to release the tension. 

“So how did you two get together?”

Cris looks Sergio Roberto dead in the eyes. 

“After we beat you 2-0 I found him in the dressing room and he railed me against the wall.” 

Sergi Roberto gets increasingly pale as he talks. 

“Wait, wait,” Piqué is grinning now “you, the great Cristiano Ronaldo bottomed for Neymar?” 

“Well,” Cris smiles at Neymar “it was a special occasion,” 

Neymar’s lips are pressed together in a very obvious attempt not to laugh, but he turns his head to kiss him on the cheek. Some uncultured cule in the back whoops. Leo tries diffusing whatever is left of the tension by telling them the food is on the table. It works. No one spares Neymar or him a second glance as they rush to the table. 

“I think Sergi’s about to faint, maybe tone it down,” Neymar’s lips curl into a toothy smile 

“You’re the one who made me sit in your lap,” Cris raises an eyebrow “I’m not sitting in your lap at the table if you’re getting any bright ideas.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be able to eat.” 

“Ass,” Cris shoves his shoulder lightly, then gets up, walking over to the table and taking a seat beside Piqué, with the other one next to him empty for Neymar, who joins a few seconds later. 

In the few moments it takes Cris to take some food, Neymar has looked five times at Leo-for longer time periods each time- has sighed mournfully, and is now watching him without so much as blinking. 

“Neymar,” Cris pokes him in the side surreptitiously. 

“Yes?...babe?” He tacks on the ‘babe’ a good few seconds after the initial yes, and there’s a blush rising on his cheeks as Cris stifles a laugh and Pique snorts. 

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, taking a long sip of his drink. 

Neymar sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms

“This is stupid.” He says, too quietly for anyone to hear 

“What is?”

“This dinner, I don’t know why I did this-I’m sorry.”

“Far too late for that, you’re here now and so am I.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” his voice cracks a little as Leo laughs loudly at something Luis Suarez is saying. 

“Oh my god please don’t cry,” Cris says in alarm, but Neymar doesn’t seem to hear him. He tries to think of the most surprising thing he could say, then sighs in exasperation before he mutters 

“Would you actually want to rail me?” 

It works. 

Neymar turns to him, lips parted in surprise, mocha eyes wide and lined with tears. They drift lower, to Cris’s lips, then further down before he looks up again. 

“Yes,” he whispers, and now it’s Cris’s turn to gape at him. And he does so for an embarrassingly long time. Then he takes a sip of his drink. 

“Maybe you should,” he says offhandedly, smiling as he takes a bite of the pasta 

“Say less,” Neymar giggles, spearing a carrot on his fork, bumping his knee under the table. 

Cris shakes his head, grinning and taking another bite. As he eats, he can’t help but catch sight of Leo who is staring at them in curiosity. When he catches him looking, he looks away, going back to his conversation with Suarez. 

Neymar is poking the peas out of his own food and piling them on the side. 

“I can’t stand peas,” he says by way of explanation when Cris glances at him in question. 

“Give them,” Cris pulls Neymar’s plate closer and puts the peas onto his own “they prevent night blindness, you should really start eating them.”

“Ew,” Neymar pulls his plate back once Cris finishes taking the peas off 

Cris cuts him a sideways glance. 

“It might also help you avoid all those injuries,” 

Neymar gasps, pressing a hand to his heart in over exaggerated offence. 

“Babe, I’ve told you how I feel about that,” 

“I’m sorry,” Cris pouts and as Neymar laughs, he joins in. His entire face lights up when he laughs, becomes more open and warm and he’s looking at Cris the way he looks at Leo, and the thought shouldn’t set his heart beating faster, but there it is, thumping ferociously in his throat. 

“Um, are you guys coming?” Messi’s voice reaches them and they look up, confused. They see an empty table and a smirking Leo Messi. 

Neymar flushes. 

“Coming!” He puts his fork down in half eaten plate and starts to walk out and Cris does too, but Leo stops him by holding out a hand. 

“You go on, Ney,” he says over his shoulder as Neymar hesitates in the doorway. Neymar meets Cris’s gaze, and when he nods, he turns and walks away. 

“Yeah?” Cris turns to Messi, raising his eyebrows in question. 

“He likes you,” Messi says 

“I would hope so, it would be awkward if he didn’t.”

“Shut up, smartass. No, I mean he genuinely likes you. He hasn’t smiled like that in a long time. I think you,” he gives him a cursory once over “make him happy, regardless of your unfortunate choice in clubs.”

“Do you lot even realise how fucking ridiculous you look in red, blue and yellow? White is classy.”

“I’m sure that purple one was too.”

“That purple one was a monstrosity, but the difference is that we got a bad kit just once. You get a bad kit every year.”

“That is completely subjective.”

“No it’s not, Adidas half assed your kits just like you half ass the Champions League every year.” 

“See, we were having a nice moment until this happened,” Leo crosses his arms 

“You know I’m right.”

“Mhm. Anyways, you too are good for each other. Let’s go to the lounge.”

Head spinning from the strange conversation, Cris heads back to the lounge where he sits next to Neymar again. 

“Guys!” Piqué calls “now that we’re all here, I can get to the good stuff. Once the season is over I was thinking we could all go on a cruise to Ibiza.”

Neymar opens his mouth but Piqué holds a finger up and continues to speak. 

“Yes, Ney, your boyfriend can come too, because you all have to come. Absolutely have to.”

Neymar glances at Cris, who just puts one of his legs over his. Leo puts on Crackovia, and they all sit there, damn near dying of laughter, and it’s only after they’ve watched every single episode together that they stumble to their own cars. 

Neymar puts on the radio, and one of the World Cup songs start to play. Cris shook his head, changing the station. 

“I heard that song enough times while warming up. Marcelo doesn’t have very good taste.”

“I handle our warmup music so it’s always good,” Neymar says as they stop at a signal. 

“I’ve heard your music, Neymar. Every single damn time we play in the Camp Nou. Nothing like Cake By The Ocean while ninety thousand people scream insults at you,” 

“You know how we should announce our long, steady relationship to the world? When you come play at the Camp Nou and they all scream that you’re a puta, I’ll tell them not to and kiss you.” He says idly, 

Cris yawns, stretching slightly. 

“No, I’ll kiss you at the Bernabeu.”

“I refuse to announce you as my boyfriend at the Bernabeu in front of all those screaming madridiots.”

“Please tell me you don’t follow that page on Instagram.” Cris groans

“No...?”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean I look at their posts but I don’t follow them,” 

“Alright, cule.”

And they drive in comfortable silence, some Portuguese love song starting to play on the radio. Cris grins at the song, starting to sing along softly. He doesn’t look at Neymar, he knows he’s not particularly good at it, but he loves this song. When it finishes, and after his voice cracks on an obnoxiously high note, Neymar starts laughing. 

“Your serenading skills need work, Cris,”

“Stop laughing and focus on the damn road.” Cris shakes his head, but he can’t help the smile. 

Both he and Neymar are still smiling when they reach Cris’s house. 

“Oh, Cris wait!” Neymar shouts and runs out of the car as Cris’s key fits in the door. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to say thank you.” Neymar’s blushing a light pink, and his eyes are shining, and Cris would never admit his stomach did a little flip. 

“You’re welcome,” he cracks a smile 

“I had a really great time,”

“So did I,” 

“Oh, and uh you don’t need to come on the cruise. We can break up before that.”

Maybe Cris should think more about this, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. 

“What if i want to come?”

“And spend an entire two weeks as my fake boyfriend?” Neymar raises his eyebrows. 

“Not as your fake boyfriend. As your real boyfriend.” Cris puts his hands in his pockets as Neymar blinks, processing the question. His fingers mess with the loose threads in it, pulling and rolling, the speed increasing with every second Neymar takes to answer. He looks stunned. 

“Wait-wait are you serious?” 

Cris rolls his eyes and takes a step forward, raising Neymar’s chin slightly and lowering his head. He doesn’t really kiss him, it’s just their lips brushing more than anything else, but he hopes it’s enough to convey what he means. Neymar pulls away, but doesn’t move. 

“I’m not inclined to believe that’s the best you can do after all I’ve heard.”

“Would you like to come in and find out?”

“I would love to come in and find out, amor.”

“That is much better than babe.”

“Well, a real boyfriend requires a better nickname.” 

Cris smiles and holds out his hand, and this time Neymar isn’t nonchalant about taking it. He’s smiling widely, and almost skipping as they walk up the steps and into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Cris and Neymar aren’t a very common ship but I’m kind of in my feels about the two of them right now so yeah Let me know what you think :)


End file.
